


Like a Liner for the Eyes

by Ambrosia29



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst, Bathtub Sex, Bethyl Smut Week, Bethyl Smut Week816, Crossdressing, Cunnilingus, Eyeliner, F/M, First Time, Goddess Worship, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Masturbation, Mirrors, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Past Abuse, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Shame, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 08:24:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7837495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrosia29/pseuds/Ambrosia29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Beth returns, she hates being left alone and Daryl keeps his distance. Not a problem, until Maggie is posted for duty at the wall and Daryl is asked to keep her company that night...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Liner for the Eyes

Note: HUGE thanks to [Abelina ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Abelina)for Beta'ing this for me, [Bethgreenewarriorprincess](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethgreenewarriorprincess) for your support and encouragement and [Schwoozie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwoozie) for giving me the proverbial push out of the door! This wouldn't have happened without you fine ladies. Happy Bethyl Smut Week 816 everybody! This particular fic was inspired [by this photoshoot](http://writerloverpsycho-pomp.tumblr.com/post/149308067917/this-is-the-picset-that-inspired-the-fic-like-a).

 

They’d been running for an awfully long time, by the time they’d reached this…safe haven. All of his life he’d looked for places to hide, small corners where no one would think to look. Shadows where none would see him, staying in the background like his life depended upon it because sometimes, it did.

His old man, the sonuvabitch, preferred it that way.

At least, until he’d gotten drunk and mean enough he wanted to lay into someone and their mother had vanished in a puff of smoke.

The dull ache in his chest made him wince as he looked into the mirror. The reflection that stared back at him was ancient in his eyes, blue orbs in sharpened features, honed by a lifetime of difficulty, of fighting to survive and then running, running until the dead had fallen long behind.

It was that night and another fire that had burned his past up in a conflagration of moonshine and laughter, a force of nature at his side and at his heels as he guided them through the non-existent paths into new territory.

Because it had been, for him. She’d taken his hand as they ran and he hadn’t known it for a while after, that his heart had been laced through her fingers.

In the aftermath of that fire, the loosening of his past he’d felt himself unburdened of the weight he’d carried. He was lighter, freer, able to relax and be himself without reservation with the young woman who’d reached out and saved him from himself.

His eyes shifted, glancing over the hard white tile bathroom with the moonlight shining through the window at the woman in question, leaning back into the tub. He stared at her in the reflection of the mirror, stealing the intended glance which lengthened into a look and drinking her in like a sponge.

He’d been barren, starving when she’d gone. Almost like a puff of smoke herself, a painful echo of the primal loss of comfort and care he’d lost as a child. But then, the miracle had happened.

He’d been on a run, staring into the window of a department store, looking for tools they could bring back to help with repairs, start up a station to rebuild cars, convert the engines to other sources of fuel like Eugene had said they could.

He’d seen her reflection there, too. At first, he’d thought she had been a ghost, looking over at him as she rounded the street corner, stopping to stare in surprise. It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d haunted his steps, though the surprise was new. Of course she’d known him right away, the wings blazoned on his back and it wasn’t until he heard the sharp cry of his name that he’d turned, nearly bowled over when she threw herself into his arms.

Bewildered, he held her, too shocked to say anything but the strangled whisper of her name. He remembered the feel of her in his arms, her scars beneath the pads of his fingers a seam in the soft planes of her skin. It was then reality came crashing into him and he retreated from it, gently extracting himself from her embrace.

The reality was too bright to face just then, overwhelming his mind and heart just as the grief had done.

But he’d pulled away from them all, once they’d returned to the Safe Zone, questions unvoiced and unanswered in the aftermath of everyone else rejoicing in her: in the girl of sunshine and fire who lit up his world in ways he had only just been made aware of before she was gone.

Over the next weeks she’d adjusted to life in the Safe Zone and it had become apparent there were some peculiarities she’d gained in her long trek north-east. She didn’t like to be left alone, not if she could help it. Like now, with his back to her, in the bathroom with her as she bathed.

He hung his head down for a moment, a blush of shame taking him in the chest as he realized he could have been caught staring at her. Her white-gold hair and skin silvered in the moonlight, gilded by the water in pale light and patterned shadows thrown by a tree outside.

Her long limbs dipped in and back out of the water, a small sigh escaping her as she skimmed her delicate fingers down the inside of her wrist, curling around and back up. He grew absolutely still as she took up the soap, slowly lathering it between her hands, held his breath as she slid them up her arms in a meticulous chain of swirls that trailed over her shoulders and up her neck. She sat up in the water, glancing at him surreptitiously to make sure he wasn’t doing _exactly_ what he was, eyes hidden beneath the fall of his long hair with his broad back to her. The movement exposed her breasts to the air, the small buds of her nipples hardening in the cooler temperature above the rising steam. She swept her hands down over her collar bones, down her breasts and belly, back up to swirl over her breasts and strum those peaks he suddenly found himself aching to feel beneath his fingertips. He glanced down his torso, surprised and yet not, to find himself hard in his jeans. When he looked back up to her, her face was turned away toward the window as she reached around to soap her back and he thought for a moment that it would be so easy, using that as an excuse to touch her.

After he’d shuttered himself in from the light inside her, after the loving reunions, the tears and cries of joy felt all around him, she hadn’t sought him out. But tonight, when Maggie had been scheduled on the wall and Glenn noticeably uncomfortable with the prospect, the elder Greene had approached him.

“She’s asking for you,” Maggie said, “and Glenn’s not comfortable sitting alone in the bathroom with her and you two were out there alone for so long, so I figured if she’s safe with anyone, it’s with you.”

He swallowed. “It’s okay,” he’d said, “I’ll keep an eye on her.” She’d smiled at him, hesitating on what amounted to a silence. Silence and something behind her eyes, a shadow and warmth he’d seen in the moment they’d shared in that long-ago barn when they’d spoken of Beth after –

Shoving the thought away, he took a quiet breath, tried to calm his thoughts and tried – failing again – not to glance at her in the mirror. She was once more leaning back in the tub, breasts disappeared beneath the water but her legs lifting, floating above the steam in gracefully muscled curves of calf and thigh. He watched as she soaped those long limbs he’d not had time to imagine before she’d been taken from him, watched as she rinsed and caressed herself slowly and contemplated how he’d tried not to imagine her since her return.

 

Her eyes glanced over at him and he looked down at the sink, keeping her in the corner of his vision while he looked at the items collected there. Toothbrush and baking soda, a little cup for collecting water from the sink, another holding a series of small brushes and pencils.

Aaron had gotten a few items on a run that Maggie had requested, offering them to Beth, on the off-chance she’d wanted to use them. Things like eye-shadow, lipstick and lotions with high levels of vitamin E that were who-knows-how-old but might still make a difference, might make her scars heal and fade faster than time alone. It included a few bottles of cover-up foundation and he examined them.

He shook his head in silence. Maggie had thought her sister might want to cover her scars. He knew she’d done nothing with it, except occasionally put on a little of the colored powders and lip-gloss when she wasn’t on the wall.

For Beth, it was the little things.

He smiled, pride in her resolve, for refusing to cover the lines on her face. Having plenty of his own, he was used to scars and though he regretted bitterly the things he imagined she’d gone through to get them, he was proud of her for the refusal to be any less than who she was.

She watched him in silence, the soft lapping of the water the only sounds in the room as she shifted beneath the surface. He stretched, watched her watching his movements, taking in his shoulders and the knowledge set his heart beating a little harder in his chest.

Those eyes slipped closed and he looked down at the sink again, taking in the eyeliner she’d occasionally used. Oddly enough, she did so while on the wall. “It helps with the glare,” she said. It made sense, to him. Arabs had lined their eyes to soften the sun’s glare and football players did it during games, though that looked more like war-paint than the pretty thin lines she used to outline her beautiful eyes and made them seem brighter with the contrast.

As if he needed any further brilliance to keep his eyes averted from hers. She was so beautiful he sometimes wondered how he could stand keeping away from her, keeping silent about those last heart-stopping moments of peace before it had all come crashing down.

He took another breath, let it cool his blood and let it out slowly when he heard it.

A soft sigh.

Glancing at the mirror again, he realized her head had fallen back against the edge of the tub and she appeared to be spreading the soap along her abdomen. He watched and his eyes widened, breath leaving him stranded as he realized her arms were flexing slowly, gently guiding her hands upward and back down in a more rapid motion than before, wrist swirling in the water as –

As she touched herself.

He swallowed, nearly swallowed his tongue, his cock growing harder and eyes watering for a moment before he blinked the moisture away. Swirl, the sound of water lapping gently, rhythmically, brow furrowing in concentration as she moved those hands faster, a soft sly wet sound as her fingers danced over her clit in quiet rhythm. Her eyes opened slightly and tilted toward him and he quickly looked down at the eyeliner again.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw that hot gaze turned toward him and he could hardly believe the desire written there. But was it for him? His back was to her, she couldn’t know he’d seen. Did she? Had she been doing this all along, planning this? Was she never alone to do this on her own, sleeping in company even in Maggie and Glenn’s house that she had no other opportunity?

He felt lightheaded from lack of air and wondered how in the hell he was going to ever find the courage to turn around. How could he face her, ask her anything when she shone there like a moonlit Goddess and stared at his back while she made herself feel so goddamned good her eyes had trouble remaining open to keep watch for him like a woman wary of a peeping Tom?

How could he face such brilliance?

He looked down, closing his eyes tightly against the desire and sight of her so close and yet, so far. Opening them, he found his answer like a childhood memory surfacing from a deep well. Because that’s what it was. He was assailed by memories of eyeliner, of watching his mother smooth and contour her eyes with pale shades his father had found acceptable and absently given him the black that displeased the asshole for disposal.

But he’d kept it. Hadn’t known why. And in the small hours of the morning, after she’d gone to work and before the monster that was his father had awakened from his drunken slumber, he’s sat himself in the bathroom just as he’d watched her do and began to play with his mother’s things, arrayed much as Beth had kept hers upon the sink.

He’d been caught with it in his pre-teens, wearing the eyeliner he’d purloined from a grocery store. Merle had been high as a kite in the next room, come in slurring his words and stumbling in confusion. He watched in stunned silence as their Dad had beaten him with that belt to within an inch of his life, or so it had felt at the time. Taking another deep breath at the memories, the stinging aches across his back as the scars reminded him of why they’d been given to him, in an attempt to beat every “fucking fairy faggot girl” impulse out of him.

As Merle had drawn him into the bathtub afterward, he’d wordlessly thrust the makeup remover into his hands and began his ministrations to his back while Daryl attempted to wipe his face clean and forget any of it had ever happened, though Merle’s cruel teasing was a coded reminder of that shameful day.

He’d never touched the stuff again.

Not until now. In the face of his grief for his mother he’d donned the makeup she’d used like armor against the intrusive ‘help’ of others and pitying, prying eyes against the bruises which often marked her. Now, he used it as armor, to build a window through which he could safely look upon the brilliance reflected by the moon.

Silently, he lifted the small pencil in his fingers. Black. Keeping his eyes now upon his own, he smiled to himself to see from the corner of his vision that Beth’s had closed once again, groaning quietly in his throat to see the water sloshing in gentle but definitive waves as she bucked into her own hands.

He leaned forward, pressing his aching cock against the rim of the sink and ran the liner in a surprisingly smooth motion along his right lower lid. It left a black line with rippling edges and he tilted his head further, examining his work and adding a second swipe of black. Smoother. It was something. And it was…something. While he worked on the other side he felt an odd flutter in his stomach which tugged the corners of his lips upward and made him feel uneasy. Carefully applying it to the inner side of the top lid, beneath the lashes, he breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, blowing away his dis-ease and shutting down the source, reminding himself with a glance at the goddess – head tilted back and mouth dropped open in a silent moan that set his blood simmering through his system – who’d helped him burn it all away.

He finished the other eye and leaned back, eyeing his handiwork. He looked out of his eyes as though they were windows, struck with a sharp and heady emotion to see his eyes dramatized by the dark color echoed by the dark shades of his hair as it had grown out. The effect was…striking. He had no other word for it, felt as though he’d borrowed it from her.

He’d seen her line her eyes like this, thin lines around her lashes and lids that sent silent threat of danger and threw off her moods like a warning sign. Most of the others knew enough to stay away then, but as always it only drew him to her.

Her eyes were striking, when she did them thus and his were no different. His seemed brighter, sharper, and feminine. Not quite what he’d thought they’d look like. He tilted his head first left, then right, a brief analysis of what he could only imagine was a sense of untapped artistry, of taking in the lines of a thousand tattoos on other bodies he couldn’t afford in a million years, of gazing at women dolled up greater than either he or Beth had perhaps ever done themselves.

Thin lines: feminine lines. He raised the liner to his eyes again and leaned into the mirror, catching Beth’s soft gasp of suppressed pleasure in the teeth of his smile, glancing at her reflection as he did so.

Her brows were drawn together, both arms reaching down her lithe body as it slowly writhed in the water. Teasing him with the way her hands and hips were hidden by the lip of the tub. It occurred to him under the contrasting of light and dark, moonlight and mirror and dark black lines thickening around his eyes as he worked that oh, yes, he’d need all the armor in the world to face that vision.

With the tip of his middle finger he carefully smudged the lines, softening them like some Goth who’d just rolled out of bed without removing their makeup before sleep. He arched a brow at himself, a small smile tugging one corner of his lips as he regarded himself, added a cat’s-eye corner to the outside and smudged that, too.

Heart pounding with his daring, with what he’d done and was about to do, he put the liner down on the edge of the sink as though lowering a hallowed ritual tool, stark black line on the pure white tile. Absently brushing the cool surface, his finger left a small smudge and he smiled at the ruined perfection of it, marveled at how beautiful it all looked, so shiny and perfect but for the smudged fingerprint next to the clean black lines of the pencil. Without lifting his head, he rolled his eyes up and looked at himself.

At that angle, there was something animal about him, primal and the feminine lines were transformed by the darkness in his gaze. It was always there, hadn’t been wiped clean of the shadows the loss of her had left behind in his heart. He wasn’t sure if her return ever would, but knowing she was there had eased the ache a little, replaced it with a different kind of pain.

Her brightness was too painful to look at, even dimmed as it was now. He looked at her in the mirror, boldly watched her and vaguely felt as though this weren’t real, that by donning the mask like a liner for the eyes he’d taken himself, perhaps taken her too, to a place without time and substance. As though this little corner of the world had contracted to nothing beyond these white walls and cold tiles with air slowly warmed by steam.

The double image in the mirror, of her attempts to keep silent through her pleasure and his eyes darkened with desire and external shadows sent flames through his blood, through his body and his cheeks as they warmed, darkening in the pale light shining in through the window and bouncing off every hard surface between them.

He silently retrieved his cigarettes from his pocket and hesitated, placed them instead upon the sink’s edge alongside the black magic alchemical tool. There would be time for them, later.

Her breath caught in her throat and his eyes shifted – to meet her now reflected in the mirror. His heart pounded, mouth suddenly dry and tongue frozen. But he’d never been much for words, only looked at her, allowing her to read the desire stark in his gaze.

For a long moment, neither said anything and distantly in the back of his mind he was struck by how odd this might seem to her, how fetishized and childish and stupid he must look to her. The thought had shameful tears threatening but he blinked them away angrily, refusing to let them fall, refusing to let his demons take possession of the moment and turned away from the mirror.

Turned toward her as though he were daring her to say something, say anything.

He waited.

Her breath was coming in soft pants and in the heat of her dark blue eyes was something pleading...wanting? He eyed her carefully. She opened her mouth as though to say something but nothing fell from her lips. Eyes flickering between his own, hers filled with questions, the heat in her receding from her face as confusion began to take over.

He couldn’t have that.

Voice soft, just above a whisper and cracking at the end from the dry of his throat he said, “Don’t stop.” The confusion halted on her face, surprise making her luminous eyes larger, more doe-like. She didn’t move but for rapid breath.

Slowly, cautiously he shifted his stance to lean further against the sink, brought up his hand and kept his eyes on her as he stroked himself through his jeans. They fluttered a little as the pressure eased and pleasure emanated up his stomach, doubled by her wide eyed stare, mouth dropping open at his brazen gesture.

Whispered, “This what you want, girl?”

His hand slowly stroked himself more as he spoke and she watched him, her gaze overtaken again by hunger. She blinked, arm sliding down her belly hesitantly. He watched with bare hunger on his face, breath coming in greater heaves that expanded the muscles of his chest and shoulders in increasing rapidity. The pressure of his hand wasn’t enough but the pleasure that swept through him went straight to his groin and down his legs, the weight of her eyes locked on his making it sharper, more. He tilted his head back under the force of it, letting her look her fill and ignoring the vanishing lump in his throat. Fingers working slowly, stroking down the front of his jeans one-handed while the other worked open the damned button and zipper. He hissed at the strange rasp and the way it felt vibrating subtly along his cock before slipping his hand inside to cup himself in his strong hand.

She licked her lips, her wide eyes lost to dark desire. Her fingers trembled as he watched her, hoping she could read what was in his eyes, echoing that moment so long ago, everything he’d felt then and so much more. The gentle way he’d tried to tell her how she’d broken him open and found the gentle man beneath the hard. The agony of losing her and finding her again, waiting so long for this moment; a moment of truth. When she’d either reject him and the darkness she’d left behind or welcome him into her light.

He waited, scarce able to breathe until she sat up further, eyes upon his, the intensity of her stare softened with what could be compassion. What could be love? He was tired of waiting. Of waiting to see who she was now, for her to re-learn him and the rough possibility that they might be able to make things work now in this place of sanctified solitude in the whirlwind of chance in the outside world. The place which was the eye of a bloody storm.

A hand reached over the edge of the tub, drops of water sliding down and onto the floor as she reached a hand out to him. “Please,” she said, just as softly.

Heart in his teeth, he went to her.

He dropped hard to his knees before her, taking her face between his large dark hands. His fingers tangled in her wet hair as they framed her cheeks gently. He looked into her eyes and though felt struck through the chest with a sharp knife of emotion he didn’t go blind. He could do this.

She cupped his face with one hand and hungrily he bent to her, tasting her lips carefully with his own, trembling with the effort of holding himself back. Her lips slid wet along his, caught them in a sensual caress and his groan answered her own when his tongue flicked along her lower lip. Those sweet curves opened under his tongue and he took the invitation to slide inside and taste her.

Oh, she was pure adrenaline, tasting of sweet cornbread and baking soda and _Beth_. He flicked his tongue along hers, swept the roof of her mouth and cracked open his eyes and grinned into her mouth as she gasped with pleasure, lids at half-mast over her eyes. He sucked her lower lip as he pulled away to look at her and felt a wave of power sweep over him at the small noise she made. He _had_ to do that again, make her make those sweet soft sounds. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and her cheeks pink from the heat of the bath or him – hell probably both – and he went eagerly when both of her hands gripped him by the hair and pulled him in for more.

They crashed together, heavily exploring tongue caressing hers and teeth clacking painfully. He tried to be gentle again but she had none of it, her arm wrapping around his shoulder and half a breast against this chest.

More. He needed more of her.

He pushed her back, back into the sloshing water, bracing himself on one arm as he half followed her in relentlessly. Her back hit the other side of the narrow tub and he struck like a wolf lunging in for the kill.

His mouth collided with her collarbone, whispered apologies into her skin as he laved at the reddening flesh with his tongue and lips, nipped at her before sucking more marks into her  .

She tilted her head back and wrapped her arms around him, cradling his head in her hands as she whispered unintelligibly. He nipped and sucked his way up that smooth column, paused to bury his nose in her clavicle and inhale her deep into his lungs before tasting her with the wide expanse of his tongue back up to her chin. Her eyes met his again and he smiled at her before attacking her lips again, shifting to sit in the tub on one knee while he knelt before her.

She was bowed over the tub’s edge, tugging insistently at the material of his shirt and he let her go long enough to rip it off over his head impatiently, moaning with desire and pleasure as she immediately took advantage of his exposed skin. Those hot wet hands – dimly he was aware of the slightly slick feel of her fingers where she was still wet with her own juices – trailed up his ribs and over his heavily muscled chest, combing through the hair there.

Her lips and tongue followed her seeking hands and he paused for a moment while he remembered how to breathe through the ache in his chest, heart stuttering beneath her hands. Her lambent eyes turned up toward him as she stroked firm fingers over his pecs and closed her exploring mouth over a nipple. He hissed at the sensation and with a wrenching effort cupped the back of her head and dragged her back up to his hungry mouth to devour her.

His need was nearly violent, the urge to consume her, take her and keep her close before the world ripped her away again. He swore as he tangled his tongue with hers that he’d never let it happen. He’d die first. His arm wrapped around her, pulled her into his chest and he groaned at the feel of her lithe body pressed to his, the tight buds he’d ached to touch sliding against his skin. It was almost too much, his heart and head a mess of tangled emotions threaded through his hunger and desperation he’d not known was driving him until this moment.

Her hands slid around his neck and she arched into him, pelvis pressed to his thigh braced against the corner of the tub. His hand slid down the groove of her spine and he chuckled to feel her writhe beneath his touch like a slow ripple in the water. But it was more as the laugh lengthened and was joined by hers and he realized this must be what it means to be exhilarated. Broken open. Set loose. Free.

He kissed her long, deep and exploratory though it was territory he was quickly becoming familiar with. She made a soft noise deep in her throat and clutched at him harder to stay upright when his tongue curled up and danced against the top of her mouth. He smiled into her lips, reveling in her smallest reactions. She broke off the kiss to shudder, gasping for soft breath into his mouth before he kissed her again once, twice and leaned his forehead against hers, taking in large breaths of his own.

She laughed softly, a breathless whispering thing that tickled the scruff on his chin when she pressed lightly with her nose and nuzzled him. Her mouth caught his lower lip and sampled it in small biting kisses, played her tongue over the swollen flesh. He must have realized that all he’d done was kiss her at the same time she had because she paused for a moment, eyes serious and locked to his own when she slowly slid her fingertips down his muscled abdomen, playing through the hairs on his body and rubbed firmly against his aching cock.

His mind went blank, couldn’t form a complete thought and he soon gave up while she worked fingers into his open jeans and reached inside. If he’d been blank before now he was scrambled, her touch perfectly gentle and firm and she was stroking him and – _ohgod_.

His brows furrowed and eyes squeezed shut with effort to stay upright and for a moment was content to kneel there and let her touch him, let her have her way with him. But, no, his fogged mind tried to say before another arc of pleasure swept through his belly and chest, there was more, so much more of her to explore.

One of his hands slid slowly downward, watched her with heavy-lidded eyes as it trailed down her neck, over her shoulder and brushed the tender skin above her clavicle where the flesh was reddened by his rough kisses and scratchy beard. His eyes caught hers again as he saw how her eyelids fluttered and he remembered whispering apology into her skin, her words registering finally.

_It’s okay._

He gently pushed her back against the tub, sliding his hands down her body in an explorative caress over her shoulders, down her breasts and lingering for a moment over her nipples, smiling with delight when she bit her lip and watched. She squirmed when he reached her waist and he made a mental note to tickle her mercilessly later – he couldn’t get enough of her laughter and he’d be damned if he let another day pass without hearing it at least once – but for now he wanted to taste her.

When her hands reached for him, touching his cheek, his hair, he eyed her right hand without turning his head and struck quickly, taking those fingers into his mouth. Her breathless giggle was quickly overtaken by gasping moans as he pulled the digits deep and suckled them, licking up and down the length of her, nibbled and swirled his tongue over the pads of her fingers and messily curling it between her middle and ring fingers, suckling hard as he trailed his mouth back up to her fingertips. Eyes rolling to her face as he pulled away he felt a wave of delighted satisfaction to see her head tipped back, the bright moon hanging like an exclamation point over her head through the window.

He moved his ministrations to the skin low on her belly, kept looking at her when she finally lifted her head to look at him. When the light from the moon was eclipsed by her head, creating a halo of pale silver-blonde hair about her pleasure-darkened eyes he felt his lip curl in a half-smile at the thought that yes, here she was.

His Goddess.

And he, safely behind his eyes was bent on worship.

Her fingers tangled in his hair as he framed those hips against the tub’s edge, water sloshing out when he bent to her mound, nuzzling through the coarse hair above her cunt. Her scent enveloped his senses and he knew the familiar taste from her fingers would be so much more upon his tongue.

His cock throbbed and mouth watered in anticipation.

Holding her still, he pressed a kiss to her pubic bone, nuzzled his way down to her slit and immediately pressed his face to her cunt. His nose and following tongue pressed and explored her lips, flicking up and over her clit and he smiled, held her tighter when she jumped.

Quickly laved his tongue over her again, licking from her perineum and through her already slick folds, dipping inward upon a groan. He’d intended to follow through the motion to her clit but her _taste_. Oh, God her taste was exquisite and he’d no idea where the thought came from but there it was, her shining cunt under his mouth and sweet-sharp taste like light sweet peaches and spiced honey there upon his tongue as he delved as deep into her as he could, kissing her cunt like her mouth, nose pressing her clit as he pressed inward and tried to eat his way inside her

Hands fisted in his hair and brought him back but only just. His eyes, wild and feral looked up at her, the blue piercing through to her heart and his own; he could see it in her eyes. Keeping his gaze on her he slid his tongue upward and lapped heavily at her clit in rapid strokes before closing his mouth over her and sucking hard.

She keened her pleasure beneath his onslaught, breasts heaving in time to his tongue’s swirling. He slowed, savoring the texture of her smooth little clit upon the tip of his tongue, keeping his lips wrapped around her and drinking her in. She lifted her head again to watch and he smiled around her clit, eyes darkening as he released her hip to slide his hand around her thigh to her cunt. Parting her folds gently he slowly drove two fingers into her, groaning against her clit at the way her eyes closed, mouth dropped open on a moan and her head dropped back against the window with a soft reverberation of glass.

Slowly he rebuilt the pressure over her clit and groaned into her flesh again as she grew so wet he slid easily in and out of her, the slick of her spreading down his hand. His tongue dipped lower again to taste her and he lost himself in her, sliding his coated fingers up to swirl over her clit while he spread her beneath his tongue.

Distantly he heard her moaning above him, beseeching him, pleading and the tug of her fist in his hair was a demon driving him on relentlessly. Sliding his finger inside just as his mouth traveled back upward, driving inside her to the time of his suckling mouth and circling tongue. The pressure on his scalp tightened, burned him and her hot fire consumed him.

Her tight walls constricted so hard he could barely move his fingers inside her but he shifted the angle, almost driving them upward into her and finding that rough patch inside. His teeth closed around her clit with a low growl and she made a sound that pierced his ears and pricked his eyes with tears, she sounded so beautiful. Her body tightened impossibly around him before her cries died, the warm wet of her coating his palm as it flowed out and slid down past his wrist. He felt the trembling of her body and released her only when she slid into the tub as her legs gave out.

Catching her awkwardly about the hips, he eased her down and cradled her against his body. She laid her head against his chest, relaxing into the hand cupped against his palm as she struggled to breathe. He grinned into her hair and kissed her forehead, a glowing in his chest making him feel as though he could do anything. He lifted his head briefly, in awe when he realized what it was: pride.

That she could feel this good; that _he_ could give this to her.

“Daryl,” he heard her whispering, bringing him back into the room with her. Her hands were on him again, brushing his chest and exploring with deceptively strong hands. Lips found his neck and brushed up to his ears and she whispered, “Inside me, Daryl, please,” before sucking the lobe into her hot mouth.

His eyes rolled into his head, at words reminding him sharply that he was still somehow hard and hadn’t spilled into the water when she’d come over his face. Her teeth nipped and tongue teased the sensitive flesh beneath his ear and he pulled her back with him, leaning into the cradle of the tub with hands on her naked hips.

Too late, they both realized the wet denim was nearly impossible to pull off and she gripped the sides and tugged violently at them, jerking him bodily in her fervor and sloshing more water from the tub – not that he cared – as he lifted his hips and shifted to help her efforts.

Halfway down his thighs, warm water spilling around his aching cock he gripped her wrists and said “Fuck it, girl, these ain’t –”

“That’s the idea,” she interrupted with a giggle, pushing him back against the tub with a hand on his shoulder, thumb and forefinger nearly wrapped around his neck. She held him firmly against the cool surface and he tossed the hair from his eyes, grinning at her. She shifted, crawling up his legs on her knees as her thighs settled around his own. He pulled her to him, lifting her easily in his arms, shifting to kiss her throat and she held him still. His eyes questioned hers.

She shifted her hand, caressing gently down his face and threading through his hair. Tipping her forehead to his and staring into his eyes she lifted up higher and swirled her ass against his cock, sending sparks and a growl through him. He nearly begged her to take his cock just before she finally slid herself down over him.

She was hot and so wet she sank down easily but for how tight she was. It was the sweetest torture, her body dragging the foreskin further down his shaft to expose the tip inside her, the soft slick heat sending fire roaring in his head and it was his turn to tip his head back though he couldn’t release her eyes. She leaned over him, sharpening the angle inside her and lifting back up slowly.

His hands came up and cradled her head as he looked at her, pleasure making his gaze lose focus as he fought to keep his eyes on her, the heaven of her body sliding around him in the sweetest friction and pressure. “Oh,” he breathed, “Oh, _girl_ , you –”

She writhed over him and he gathered her into his arms, bracing his knees against the sides of the tub and lifting his hips in time with her rise and descent over him. He moaned helplessly, burning up inside her and looked down at her cunt sliding over him as he disappeared inside her. His eyes rolled back into his head at the sight and he gathered her close to his chest, the brush of her nipples against his, the soft press of her breasts on his skin adding to the fire inside him. His arms circled her, spanned her back and he whispered in her ear and fucked himself harder into her body, “God you feel so fucking _good_ , Beth this is – you – God yes you’re amazing _I missed you_ , you can’t believe how much I’ve missed you it killed me _you_ killed me I needed you you’re alive – alive, so fucking alive.”

He bit her throat and kissed the pulse beneath his lips and celebrated her breath, her warmth, her life with his hands kneading her breast and kissing her heartbeat, sharing her breath to drown in her lips while she cried out again.

It was heaven. It was hell. He didn’t want this to end. He couldn’t stand it, how good she felt, so tight around his cock as he thrust into her. She shattered around him again, hands raking his shoulders, making new scars he’d joyfully carry for her and he could only hold her tightly to him as her walls spasm around him, bathed him as the water he lay in never could. He cursed, “ _fuck_ ,” thrust harder into her as she came and came around him until he cursed – held his breath – cursed again, “Oh, _fuck,_ _Beth!_ ” made a strangled moaning sound as he finally exploded, her body and breath in his ear anchoring him as the light exploded behind his eyes.

“ _God,”_ he heard someone whisper and knew it was him.

He mouthed her name against her hair, felt her lips soft against his cheek and ear. When he finally descended back to earth, she was laughing low in her throat, that breathy delighted sound he found he loved and he fought for air smiled at her and chuckled a breathy laugh of his own.

Her hair was tangled and wet still, eyes bright and cheeks flushed from their – lovemaking? Fucking? He didn’t care what they called it, as long as she wanted to do it again.

“I didn’t hurt you?” he asked, brushing a wet strand back from her face. She smiled, shook her head ‘no’ and kissed him, lips lingering on his own for a long and luxurious moment. He caressed the scar along her cheek, the thin seam accentuating the sweet curve of her face. She leaned into the touch and he sighed, pulling her close again. She melded to him like she was meant to be there and as silly as it sounded to him, he didn’t give a shit.

It was how he felt.

They lay in the water for some time, allowing the languid aftermath of their storm to seep into their bones like the heat from the water. Just as he started getting uncomfortable in his soaked jeans, she spoke softly next to his ear, “Are you ready, now?”

“Ready?”

“Y’know…”

He did. “To talk.” Her head bobbed where it rested on his shoulder. He supposed they had to, didn’t they? So much left unspoken. So many questions. “Where do you want to start?”

There was a pause and after a moment she lifted her head, her nose brushing his chin on her way up for a kiss. She pulled back, staring into his eyes for a long moment with such tenderness, eyes flickering back and forth between his own. Her hand rose and thumb gently traced the outside corner of his eye.

“We can start with why you’re wearing my eyeliner, if you like.”

He blushed and looked down at the water, smiled and looked back up.

"Yeah," he murmured, "Yeah, we can do that."

 


End file.
